MIRANDA paused and looked behind her, then she slowly
turned a full circle. This was a big mistake because the
slow beat of panic which had been curling inside her
stomach for the past hour mushroomed into full-blown fear
as she was forced to contemplate her complete isolation.
She had no idea where she was. She had no idea where she
was going. All sense of direction had been lost as she had
skied rapidly away from the avalanche straight into a
blizzard that was now making forward progress laborious
and uncertain. And, to make matters worse, dusk was
beginning to permeate the great white amphi theatre which
had always seemed so gloriously free and now appeared
terrifyingly hostile.
She whimpered and found that she was having to make an
effort to remind herself that she was an expert skier, had
been doing it for twenty-two of her twenty-five years. She
could more than handle the challenge of the black runs.
With the snow whipping like pellets against the parts of
her face which were exposed, and restricting any clear
view that might help her to get her bearings, she would
have to move slowly and keep her fingers crossed that she
was going in the right direction.
Anger gave way to self-pity and she skied slowly towards a
small cluster of fir trees which offered the only visual
relief from the naked, virgin-white landscape, barely
visible now as the light continued to fade.
She was lost, alone, terrified and quite possibly on
course for a date with the Grim Reaper, and all because
Freddie, her so-called boyfriend, couldn't keep his
immature, wandering hands to himself. Not content with
having had her there with him, he'd simply had to explore
the voluptuous charm of the Italian eighteen-year-old girl
who had been assigned to their chalet. And worse, had got
caught doing it.
How dared he?
Miranda leaned against the trunk of a tree and closed her
eyes. She had to take a few deep breaths to contain her
rage or else she would scream at the top of her lungs and,
with her luck, probably set off another avalanche. Her
woollen hat was soaked from the snow. She should never
have worn it. She should have stuck on her faithful,
waterproof headgear instead of a flimsy hat simply because
it matched the rest of her skiing outfit. Now she could
feel the dampness permeating through to her head. As far
as everything else was concerned, she was well-protected
with all the requisite layers of clothing, including
thick, waterproof gloves. But how long would she be able
to remain stationary before the cold began sinking its
teeth through the layers in search of flesh? She squinted
into the dying light and dimly made out a thickish cluster
of trees, a dense little patch that would be more
protection for her should an overnight stay outdoors
become necessary.
Miranda groaned. Why kid herself that she was miraculously
going to find her way back to the chalet where Freddie and
their fifteen-strong group were right now probably
cracking open their first bottle and contemplating what to
have for supper? Would they even have missed her? Or, if
they had, would they have assumed that she was miserably
lost and perilously close to despair in the middle of
nowhereland? They were all first-class skiers and they
would probably be unaware of the minor avalanche that had
thrown her so badly off course. Doubtless Freddie would
have made a story about their argument, reducing his
despicable behaviour to the level of some boyish jollity
that had been misconstrued by a jealous girlfriend and her
absence would be put down to a minor blip. Quite possibly
they would assume that she had needed to cool off and had
taken herself off to one of the hotels in a huff. Her
platinum credit card would have gained her entry into any
of the hotels further down the slope if she felt she
needed time out and they all knew that she travelled with
it in her inside jacket pocket.
"Just in case a fabulous shop happens to beckon
unexpectedly!" she had always joked.
Fat lot of good a credit card was going to do for her now.
She wearily adjusted her skies and headed towards the
vanishing clump of trees, moving at a snail's pace down
the steep slope, making sure that desperation didn't
propel her to do anything stupid. With luck, the trees
would block out the blizzard or at least keep it at bay
and, if she huddled into a ball in the centre of them, she
might just be able to last out the night. With even
greater luck she might find shelter in one of the animal
sheds that were dotted around here and there but she
wouldn't let any optimism blind her to the stark reality
that she might just find more trees.
The vast white terrain was now almost completely swamped
in darkness. If she hadn't been so focused on making it to
the trees while she could still see them, she might not
have stumbled and fallen over the projecting stump,
rolling powerlessly down the slope. One of her skies
dislodged automatically, the other clung to her foot; and
when she finally came to a slow halt and tried to stand,
the pain shot through her ankle like an explosion.
The lost ski, which would be essential for her to get out
of this mess, was nowhere to be seen. The fast-falling
snow had buried it like a matchstick and there was no time
to instigate a hunt.
Miranda felt panic turn her bones to water and she gritted
her teeth, forcing herself down the last few metres
towards the trees, dragging her useless foot and using her
ski poles like crutches.
She had been right. The blizzard, at least, was kept at
bay by the denseness of the trees. She forced herself
forward and was about to pause for a rest when she saw a
flicker of light. When she angled her body for a better
view, the light disappeared; but then, back in the
original position, it reappeared. Something bright through
the trees.
She could feel her eyes getting heavy and made herself
stand back up, lifting her damaged leg as though she was
just about to begin a game of hopscotch. The pain was
excruciating, but far less so when there was no weight
applied.
If she ever made it back home in one piece, then she would
turn her life around. No more flitting from one fun spot
to another in search of thrills. No more frantic social
life — paid for by her wealthy daddy — in the company of
other young, rich, restless friends from similarly wealthy
backgrounds. And no more Freddie. That went without
saying. In fact no more men. And definitely no more rich,
spoiled brats.
The light was getting more constant now. Miranda was
virtually crying from the anticipation of finding it. The
trees had become shapeless black towers and she had to
weave her way painfully around them until, without
warning, they cleared and the source of the light became
apparent.
Not an animal shed but a cabin. Fairly small, with the
typically pointed roof and, more importantly, inhabited.
The curtains were drawn against the darkness but the light
inside promised occupation. Help. She gave a deep-throated
sob and dragged her way to the door, collapsing in
exhaustion after one loud bang.
Which meant that her first view of her rescuer, her
saviour, was of his feet. Or rather of his brown,
weathered loafers. When he spoke his voice seemed to come
from a long way off. A nice voice, she thought
distractedly, deep. She lacked the energy to raise her
head to inspect the face that went with the voice. She
closed her eyes on a sigh and felt him lift her up and
carry her into the blissful warmth of the cabin, kicking
shut the door behind him.
It felt unbelievably good to be out of the cold. So good,
in fact, that she wondered whether she was dreaming and
whether, in a minute, she would open her eyes only to find
that she was huddled under a tree fending off the same
blizzard and any hopes of rescue, cabins, flickering
lights and warmth were the delusions of a wandering mind.
Which was why she kept her eyes closed as she was
deposited gently on a sofa that felt broad and comfortable
enough to be a bed.
"Who," the voice said from above her, "the hell are you
and what are you doing here?"
Less of a question and more of a demand for an immediate
explanation. Miranda opened her eyes and found herself
staring upwards at the harsh angles of an aggressively
dominant face and at narrowed cobalt-blue eyes that were
staring back at her with a mixture of suspicion and
hostility.
He was wearing a baggy and very faded dark blue and white
striped tee shirt and a pair of loose grey jogging pants
that, like the shirt, seemed to have seen better days many
moons before.
She forgot the pain in the ankle in the face of this
overwhelming show of rudeness.
Never before in her life had any man ever reacted to her
like this before! True, she probably wasn't looking her
best right at this very moment, but still. She felt her
mouth droop into a petulant scowl which only made her
unwelcome saviour narrow his fierce eyes even more.
"Are you going to answer me?" he demanded harshly. Miranda
sat forward and then winced as the pain shot straight from
her ankle to the remainder of her body. "My foot!"
The man's eyes travelled from her face to her foot and for
a second she thought that he might ignore her expression
of pain, but he didn't. He removed his hands from his
pockets and bent over to slowly ease her foot out of her
ski boot; then he muttered something that sounded very
much like an expletive as he saw her swelling ankle.
"What happened?" His long fingers were pressing against
various parts of her burning, painful skin. They were cool
and skilful and, combined with the relief of not being
skewered by those dangerously blue eyes, she sank back
against the arm of the sofa and stared upwards at the
lofty ceiling.
"I was skiing and I fell," Miranda said in a small voice
and he muttered another impatient oath under his
breath. "I'm sorry," she felt compelled to add defensively.
"Keep still. I'll be back in a moment." She watched his
departing back and only felt herself relax when he was no
longer in sight.
Trust her to stumble helplessly into a man, the first
ever, who intimidated her. He was too tall, too powerfully
built, too raw and far too grim. She wondered whether he
had disappeared to find something to help her or whether
he had simply gone in search of a map so that he could
point her in the direction of the nearest other place of
occupation and thereby save himself the inconvenience of
having her around.
"I don't think it's broken," he said, emerging with a box
in his hand. "Badly sprained but not broken. How long have
you been travelling on it?"
"About half an hour." Miranda frowned. "I think. Look, you
don't have to do this," she said as he opened the box and
began unravelling a strip of bandage. "I'm capable of
seeing to my own ankle."
"You mean like you're capable of skiing without injuring
yourself? You bloody beginners should stick to the nursery
slopes instead of thinking you can ski off-piste because
it's more exciting." He ripped the bandage with his teeth
and began stretching it around her ankle, working very
slowly and expertly.
"I am not a beginner," she said coldly. "I happen to be an
extremely good skier."
The man briefly looked at her with cool disbelief before
returning to his task, and Miranda clamped her teeth
together firmly. He might have the manners of a warthog
but she would not sink to his level. For a start, whether
she liked it or not, she was now dependent on him, at
least until she could make a phone call and get someone to
come and fetch her. She was also too well-mannered to
breeze past the normal rules of common courtesy the way he
obviously had no qualms about doing.
"How do you know it's not broken?" she asked and he
glanced at her again.
"Because I just do," he said curtly. "You're a doctor,
then, I take it?" "No, I'm not." "Then, who and what are
you?"
He didn't answer. Instead he finished with her ankle while
she continued to simmer with growing irritation at his
attitude. And when he had finished he stood up and
strolled towards the chair closest to the fire.
"Are you going to answer me?" She pulled off the woollen
hat and her long blonde hair spilled over the arm of the
sofa like a sheet of cream silk.
"Let's get one thing straight. You're in my house and I'll
ask the questions. Got it?"
Miranda stared at him open-mouthed. "When I'm finished
asking the questions and I'm satisfied with the answers,
you can go and have a bath and get into some of my
clothes."
His arrogance hit her like a sledgehammer and left her
speechless.
"First of all, tell me just how you happened to be skiing
here. Have you any idea how dangerous the vertical slopes
to this place are?"